


The River Flows Through

by EudociaCovert



Series: The Best Path [13]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Mind Games, Scheming, That's it, Theft, Tone Shift, and just a tad of hangry Longshot and Smellerbee, it's just fluff angst and scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22612069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EudociaCovert/pseuds/EudociaCovert
Summary: In the wake of Uncle's reappearance Jet has something to prove. 13th in 'The Best Path' series.
Relationships: Jet & Longshot (Avatar), Jet & Smellerbee (Avatar), Jet & Zuko (Avatar), Longshot & Zuko (Avatar), Smellerbee & Zuko
Series: The Best Path [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/258244
Comments: 104
Kudos: 768
Collections: Finished111





	1. Promises

Zuko knew the Freedom Fighters had been active in the war. He knew Jet had been their leader. He thought he’d known what that meant. Obviously, he hadn’t.

“Is this… normal?”

Smellerbee, who’d found a patch of shaded wall and was leaning back to catch as much shadow on her face as possible peeked over at him with squinted eyes. “Yeah, sure. But I don’t know what he’s up to, Jet’s usually only focused like this before a raid.”

Ignoring the chill that sent down his spine, Zuko turned back to the square. Jet had moved while his attention had been elsewhere, now leaning against forward over a stall towards a blushing vender, grinning as he talked. The stalk of wheat in his mouth bobbed with each word, and his eyes were humorless, sharp and glinting like an animal’s.

Zuko had never thought of Jet as directionless before now. He had always seemed to have a plan, even in his lesser moments showing a steady confidence. Now that charisma reminded Zuko of the quiet majesty of a lion-bear he’d once seen chained in a nobleman’s courtyard, head high, napping in the sun. With a tight hand on his shoulder his mother had warned him not to approach, not to awaken the beast.

Jet wasn’t napping anymore.

The vendor pointed down a street. Jet’s smile widened and he said something which had her looking away, bashful. With two taps on the counter he turned away, his smile falling instantly. The way he moved in the crowd struck something in the milling people; they swerved and sped to avoid his path without seeming to notice why. Jet walked like he was hunting something.

“I’ve got someone else to talk to,” he said when he reached them. There was still something softer about his face when he looked at them, but his eyes were dead of anything but drive.

“Jet, you’ve been at this for _hours_.” Smellerbee sighed, pushing off the wall. Her face scrunched unhappily, and she threw a hand up to keep the sun from her eyes.

Longshot patted his stomach twice, slouched and mouth pulling into an understated pout.

Jet snorted. “You can head back if you want to, I don’t mind. I just have a few more places to go.”

Smellerbee and Longshot exchanged a wary look. When they turned the same stare on him Zuko glared back, irritated at his own bafflement.

“We’re coming with you,” Smellerbee told Jet.

Jet stepped closer to her, resting a hand on her shoulder and smiling, lopsided and strange. “I’d really be okay,” he said, voice pitched barely above the marketplace hum. “I promise.”

She smiled back, just a bit grim. “Still.”

After watching her face for a few moments Jet nodded, stepping back. He turned towards the street the vendor had indicated, and Zuko fell in with the others behind him.

Whatever was going on Zuko had a solid suspicion that it was his fault. Jet had asked several questions about Uncle after explaining in more dept how they’d met on the monorail, which Zuko had answered vaguely at best. Jet had become more insistent, and Zuko more unforthcoming, until finally he had snapped that he didn’t _know_ anything about the old man’s rebellion, and shouldn’t Jet be focusing on the problems he’d already promised him he’d fix before finding more?

It had been an unfair thing to say. It made Zuko feel like the small useless child he’d once been, whining about getting his palm burnt by his own flame. It sounded like he was blaming Jet, who’s so set on making everything _easier_ for Zuko, even things that _shouldn’t_ be easier, things that are Zuko’s own fault. Things that are _supposed_ to be hard.

If Jet had been a reasonable person, he would have brought that up, or taken that ungratefulness as reason enough to break his promises. But instead his eyes had darkened, and then lit with a terrible overwhelming passion.

He’d been stalking through the streets ever since, talking to people, asking questions, never losing the feverish glint in his eyes.

It was a fantastic distraction from a bunch of things Zuko didn’t want to think about right now. Not that something _bad_ was happening. It was just… things were getting complicated. Zuko is very familiar with things getting complicated. He’s not much of a _fan._

The Freedom Fighters only knew Uncle as a rebel, which Uncle had kept secret from Zuko, and their only link _was_ Zuko, whose only real proof was the Blue Spirit, which _Uncle_ didn’t know.

Argh.

Maybe Zuko could have somehow explained if he’d met with Uncle himself (which would have happened if he hadn’t been such a _coward_ about it), outlined what lies he’d told Jet and what lies he should have but hadn’t, what he knew, the things Zuko had done. But with the way Jet was acting that probably wasn’t going to happen. When he met Uncle again Jet was going to be right there, leaving Zuko stuck between two groups who by pure ideology should get along with each other much better than they got along with him.

And that’s not even touching the fact that Zuko might have to _choose_ between them.

ARGH. Right. Not thinking about it.

Jet broke off again, leaving them to loiter in the street as he approached a city guard. By his third sentence the hefty man had relaxed, answering with huge sweeps of the arm and a booming voice. The pure ease of the exchange made Zuko’s stomach turn. A gurgling from the side revealed Longshot’s stomach to be just as unhappy. Smellerbee snickered at him, while Zuko watched the guard call someone over to talk with Jet.

A few minutes later Jet approached with a paper in hand, smirking. “I’ve got us a job.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow. “This was all for a job?”

Jet’s grin was sharp enough to cut. “A very special job. I thought you and I could do it. What do you say?”

“Wait, wait,” Smellerbee cut in. “What about me and Longshot?”

Jet shifted on his feet for a moment. “You might prefer to sit this one out.”

“What? No!” Smellerbee crossed her arms and Longshot shook his head sharply. “We can’t do that, you’re _scheming_.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jet argued. “I swear, okay? But it might be better if-”

Longshot took three long steps forward and set his hand firmly on his leader’s shoulder. Smellerbee shuffled over to complete the triangle, arms still crossed but leaning forward like Jet was pulling her to his side just by being near. “C’mon,” she said. “Let us be there.”

Jet sagged. “Right. Okay, you win.” He gathered himself and cut his eyes over to Zuko. “You ready?”

“For _what_?”

Jet grinned again, the only one in hours that didn’t make Zuko feel alarmed. “Don’t worry, Shi. You’re gonna love it.”

\--

Jet remained tightlipped on the monorail, and Zuko’s nerves continued to spike. His unease racked up with every step they took in the Middle Ring, only melting to a simmering confusion when Jet stopped in a square packed with lavishly adorned wagons as the sun started to set. Jet spotted someone in a guard uniform and took off in a jog. He caught the man by the shoulder and started talking, enthusiastically handing him the paper he’d been carrying. The guard’s severe frown lessened a bit. After a few questions he motioned towards the wagons and began to talk, his words fast and numerous. Jet nodded along and waved as the man left after patting him on the back.

Jet didn’t smile when he came back to their party, but he leaked satisfaction with every step.

“This all for the festival tomorrow. They’ll be carrying dancers and special spiritually significant flowers all the way from here out to the farms. The dancers will plant the flowers to bring blessings to the crops. We’re going to stay here the night because guard Ong’s daughter is sick and he needs to be home, then walk with the procession to make sure no one tries anything funny.” He was looking at Zuko expectantly, like he was waiting for something.

“That’s… great?”

“How many of these nobles are going to be watching the parade and not their rice stores tomorrow?”

Zuko furrowed his brow. “Uh. A lot. But security is going to be tight, the gates will be clogged, and you just said we’ll be busy with the procession.”

“The precession we’re responsible for. And will be watching all night. Alone. Consisting of _wagons_ which are going _all the way to the farms.”_ Now Jet was grinning. “How much rice do you think we can hide under all that drapery before dawn?”

That. Was brilliantly _insane_.

“You didn’t think to run this by us before you set it all up?” Smellerbee asked.

Jet’s smile fell. “It’s going to _work_. And it’s only going to work _once_ , with this situation, where no one’s going to point fingers at us because the guard was supposed to be here, and they _aren’t._ ”

“But if we talked it out, took some time,” Smellerbee implored.

“I promised Shi before the end of the week.” Jet caught Zuko’s eyes. Held them. “I’m keeping my promise.”

The weight of those words was hard to breathe through. Zuko’s face was doing _things_ , he didn’t know _what_ , but he was powerless to hide it. Whatever it was, it made Longshot smile at him, tiny and empathetic, and Smellerbee sigh and say “Fine. But I’m going to at least go grab us food.”

Zuko swallowed, then cleared his throat. “In my pack is my mask. Can you… Would you bring it? Or, never mind that’s stupid. I’ll just come and-”

“I’ll get it.” Smellerbee interrupted softly. “Maybe you should… rest for a while. You look like you need to sit down.”

Zuko. Kind of did.

He waited until she and Longshot were out of sight before taking her advice and squatting, fingers splayed against the earth for balance. It takes moments for Jet to kneel before him, friendly Jet, the Jet he’s used to seeing, the Jet who keeps picking Zuko up every time he should drop him.

“You can let me in.” Jet tells him, firm and unshifting. “You can let me help. You can introduce me to people you care about because you can _trust me_.”

Zuko shakes his head, knowing why he must deny this but not _how to._

Jet is undeterred. “You don’t have to believe me yet, but you will someday. I’m going to prove it to you, starting tonight. Because I’m going to keep every single promise I’ve made you. Just watch me.”

The sun slips from the sky, and Zuko feels cared for.

And unbearably afraid.


	2. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: It's gonna be intense.

The actual theft is _fun_.

Longshot scouts ahead and Smellerbee watches their backs. Shi is, as he always is when the claws come out, a revelation. Jet understands the mask now. While a bit silly looking in the daylight, in the dark it takes on its own life, makes Shi into something different, bigger, stranger. Jet tries to temper his imagination; right now he can’t afford to entertain the thrill of standing side by side like this, soaring on victory and revenge.

Lugging bags of rice to the square and loading them into the slew of wagons is less fun. No matter how often Longshot’s soft whistle assures him it felt dangerous, like they could be caught out at any moment. The others feel it too. Smellerbee gets sharper with her tongue, Longshot slower to make decisions, and Shi growly and stubborn. They push and pull the fabric and decorations and space the rice bags carefully. The riskiest moments will be when the flowerpots are loaded in the morning, and unloaded at the last gate.

The Middle Ring sleeps through it all.

When the sky is beginning to color Smellerbee is curled up in a ball with her head across Shi’s calves, taking the chance to nap. Shi, leaned back against a wagon wheel, keeps nodding off for a few minutes before jerking awake and steadfastly pretending he hadn’t shut his eyes at all. Longshot seems unaffected, gaze on the distant sky and fingers running absently over the wood of his bow.

It’s an easy morning to remember the caravan.

The dancers start arriving in sets of threes and fives, clothed in what Jet assumes are their ceremonial best, flowing dresses in bright greens, rich browns, and the occasional exciting yellow. There are scores of them, a good hundred. They steer clear of Jet and his kids, some frowning down their noses, some smiling when their eyes met but focused elsewhere, a few casting them looks as they twittered behind their hands to their friends.

“What happened to your face?”

Jet turns swiftly. One of the younger dancers, maybe a year or two Smellerbee’s senior, has ventured near. She has that open innocence to her face all of Jet’s kids lose well before her age.

She’s talking to Shi, who’s been yanked entirely out of sleep by the question and was gradually tensing up the longer she waited for the answer. With two quick steps Jet cuts between them, teeth showing. “Hello there, are you excited for today?”

The girl looks up at him, startled. “It’s an honor to be chosen to carry on such a rich cultural tradition of the great city of Ba Sing Se,” she recites it, like it’s a line she’s repeated so often the words have lost all meaning to her.

Jet softens, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I’m sure that’s true. Would be a greater honor if it was a little later in the day though, wouldn’t it?”

Mischief sparks in her eyes. She leans forward, matching his posture and his smile. “The Spirits are _mean_ ,” She said with simple finality and a bit of danger-skirting thrill. “Do _you_ know what happened to his face?”

Jet feels his smile stiffen. “For such a well-dressed young lady you’re not very considerate about other people’s pain.”

Hurt washes over her pretty face. “I didn’t _mean_ anything by it.”

“You didn’t really think it through either, did you?”

“There was a kitchen fire.” Shi speaks up from behind. “At my job. In the circus. That’s all.”

Jet looks over his shoulder, eyebrow raised.

At least he now had solid evidence that his hunch was correct, and Shi can’t lie for shit.

“You work for a _circus_?” The girl asks, amazed, stepping around Jet and squatting to speak eye to eye.

Shi shifts a bit, clearly uncomfortable, but not distressed. “Not anymore. They, uh. Let me go.”

“Oh no! For what?”

Shi was looking increasingly like he’s reached in a basket for an eel and come out holding a snake.

“For being… bad at it?”

“Can you juggle? Can I see?”

Shi’s eyes have begun to dart. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“I’m sure she can spare a few minutes,” Jet interjects. The girl nods eagerly.

Shi shoots him a dark glare, which Jet meets with a grin so wide it feels like it’ll leave his face altogether. “Please,” he mocks gently, “tell us more about life in the circus, it sounds so _exciting_.”

“There you are, _honestly!”_ A new voice cuts in, and in a whirl of ceremonious dress, shrill admonishments, and ineffectual begging, the girl has been plucked form the center of their group and bustled quickly away.

Smellerbee starts to snicker. Shi scowls at the back of her head, then at Jet, then Longshot for good measure. “You are the _worst_.”

“ _She_ was kind of the worst,” Jet corrects, at the exact same time Smellerbee says “But Shi, we want to see you _juggle.”_

Shi groans, head falling back and face turning red, but he lets Smellerbee keep using his legs as a pillow.

\--

The loading goes quicker and smoother than Jet had anticipated. It was something he was counting on, for the well-bred and well-fed to overlook anything amiss on grounds that it might be a decision made by the government, and no one in Ba Sing Se questions the government.

It’s easy to forget when you’re tucked into it’s congested underbelly how _big_ Ba Sing Se is. The procession winds its way forward, beyond every curve another street, long past when Jet thought they’d reach the gate to the Lower Ring. The flowers, large pale and purple, bob and jostle in their pots. The dance is carried out in synchrony, full of precise steps, solid stomps and lunges, and delicate turns. Some of the dancers lead the ostrich horses pulling the wagons instead, feet still keeping time with their fellows. The city people crowd close to watch, sometimes so thickly the procession is forced to slow to a crawl. The imposing shadows of the Dai Li watch it all from the rooftops.

The sun is high when the cross into the lower ring. Jet is feeling the burn in his legs, but it’s nearly pleasant held up against the memory of their journey through the Si Wong desert. Checking on his kids, they all seem tired but nowhere near their limit. A flash of pride warms his chest.

The crowd changes in an instant when they step into the lower ring. Jet can nearly feel the shock and repulsion ripple through the dancers as many of them take their first glimpse beyond their gate. People are louder here, shouting, cheering, chanting, and chatting until a Dai Li appears and the whole street plunges into uncomfortable silence. As the day goes on Jet’s sense of thrill about pulling something clearly illegal off under the Dai Li’s nose grows with the crowd’s fear.

It happens when the sun has started its trek back towards the horizon and they’re nearing the next wall. A commotion from the dancers in front of Jet, a sudden clamor of noise from the crowd and one desperate voice above all others.

“You can go to the Upper Ring,” the man is pleading. Jet can see him now as more Dai Li arrive and the crowd and Dancers alike rush to get out of the way. Only one dancer remains, eyes wide and horrified as pulling against his grip. A man with worn clothes, a wrinkled face, and desperation in his eyes is on his knees before her, clutching at her tiny wrist and fancy dress. “Please, they won’t let me in, I beg you, you have to tell the Earth King that-”

“Cease and desist,” A Dai Li says sharply, moving closer. “Any further aggression or misinformation will have you taken into custody.”

“Please, he has to know!” the man wails. “We have to be ready!”

The Dai Li are on him now, dragging him up and away. In the single moment before a stone hand clamps itself tightly around his mouth he yells, clear and ringing, “the Avatar is _dead!”_

It ripples through the crowd in two very different ways. Some look around in confusion, having no knowledge of what an Avatar is. Through the rest is a nearly uniform groan of disbelief, shock, and ultimate horror.

The man is gone, taken away before his words can even settle.

The Dai Li that warned him turns and speaks again, this time to the crowd. “The spread of malicious misinformation is a threat to the sanctity of the great city of Ba Sing Se. Any permeators of this offence will be detained.”

His words would have had more weight if he’d been able to keep his voice from shaking.

Then, they are supposed to move on. The crowd grows thinner, more solemn. Barely anyone is watching when they reach the last gate, and those few leave the instant a horn is blown to end the march. Jet, the fog in his mind finally starting to abate, turns to check on his kids. Smellerbee and Longshot are stiff and drawn, but squared up, ready to weather the blow.

Shi. Shi doesn’t look well at all, pale and glassy eyed.

Jet makes his way to his side. “Hey,” he starts. “We’ll have to deal with it later. Right now, there’s too much at stake, and too many ears around.”

Shi doesn’t seem to hear him. “If he’s gone, there’s no hope at all,” he whispers.

Jet pushes forward and reaches out, forcing Shi to look up and pay attention to him. “ _If_ he’s gone,” he says, hand settling on Shi’s shoulder, “we’ll make our _own_ hope.”

Jet remembers with a pang that Shi has met the kid, had _saved_ him. That the Avatar is more than just a symbol to him.

“Just hold on for me,” Jet asks softly. “Just a little longer.”

It seems to be enough. That weary, tempered strength Shi wears so well rears its head. His jaw firms, he nods, and everything shuts off behind a mask of stubborn resolve.

The gates open, much further than they usually do. The wagons have circled, crowding into the square. The Freedom Fighters watch as the Dai Li flit into the street and climb into the wagons. They hand the pots solemnly to the dancers, who walk out of the gate.

This is the tricky part. Jet tries not to watch too closely, not to analyze every pause and shift, not to draw attention to himself.

A few take pause, one even shifting a bag out of the way, but no one calls out the alarm. Nothing is out of place _enough_ to call attention to it, and when someone finally notices the slightest sliver of rice has disappeared from dozens and dozens of nobles estates everyone involved will be scrambling to prove they had no idea how it had happened lest they bear the wrath.

Ba Sing Se’s government should… reconsider their strategy. Fear is the easiest thing in world to manipulate.

The last part of the ceremony is pleasing to the eye, and somewhat haunting. The dancers spread out into a formation, outside the gate, three rows spread in a wide half circle around its mouth, facing out towards the fields. The Dai Li, in their own formation in the interior, open the ground before the dancers, a deep round hole bent into existence before every pair of feet. The dancers kneel. Even from this far away Jet can tell most of their feet have bruised, some bled.

This march is an offering, Jet realizes. An offering of endurance.

They carefully loosen the flowers from their pots and plant them in the holes, too deep for the petals to be seen. When they’ve all finished, they stand in unison. The Dai Li closes the ground again, and the dancers place the empty pot on top of every flower’s grave.

It’s finished.

The dancers begin to chatter again, rubbing their feet, laughing and wincing. The Dai Li close in around them, a formidable escort. Jet doesn’t envy them their trek back to their gilded cages.

The Freedom Fighter’s job is to watch the carts until a man named Fa came to retrieve them.

Fa is going to be later than anticipated. Jet had a lovely chat with his daughter the day before, who only needed a bit of a nudge to accept her lover’s offer to elope the very next day. If Fa’s old friend at a declining tea stall was to be believed, he was the type to become forgetful when stressed. If they were lucky, they had several hours before Fa remembered to come for the wagons.

As soon as the wall guard changes they began to redistribute. The few bags tucked here and there when brought together filled two wagons to the very brim. It was sweaty work but satisfying. It isn’t the whole amount Farmer An lost, but it’s definitely enough to clear Shi’s name and conscience.

“We’re almost done,” Jet tells them, a reminder, a promise.

Shi climbs onto one of the full wagons, reins in hand, ready. Jet considers for a moment before tapping Longshot on the shoulder. “Take the second wagon.” As much as Jet would like to meet Farmer An for himself, in the wide expanse of the city’s farmland Longshot’s eyesight is the better choice than Jet’s way with words, which will be much more useful if they need to buy more time.

Longshot nods.

The guard doesn’t pay them much mind as they drive the wagons out of the still open gate. His job is to check what comes into the city, not _out_.

Finally, the knot in Jet’s stomach loosens. It’s done. It’s _done_. They pulled it off.

“Wake me if anything interesting happens,” he tells Smellerbee with a wink, climbing into one of the empty wagons and stretching out. Finally, _finally_ , he closes his eyes and lets himself drift away.

\--

A rumbling awakes him.

His eyes open and he shoots up, knocking into Smellerbee’s hand.

“What-”

“I don’t know.” She says.

They hear the gate slam closed, and fear creeps up Jet’s spine. Shi and Longshot aren’t here. They’re _not here_ , they’re on the other side of a massive wall and something is _happening_.

Jet sprints.

“What’s going on!?” he yells up at the guard.

“Stay calm,” the man bellows back. “Just a small earthquake I reckon. Happens every once in a while, no need to-”

Another tremor through the ground, and a _crack_ of sound so massive it’s echo seems to split the air. The man looks over the wall and pales.

Suddenly, terribly, Jet understands.

“Open the gate.” He snarls.

“Th-the gate remains closed until f-further orders arrive from-”

Jet bares his blades. “Open. The. Gate.”

A small hand on his arm. “Wait, Jet-”

He wretches his arm out of Smellerbee’s grip. “Don’t you get it? We’re being attacked.”

“I know, but-”

“But _what_? The _Fire Nation_ is here, and half us are _stuck out there with them_ , what more is there to understand!?”

“So, what, you’re going to kill the only guard in the middle of a siege!? That doesn’t-”

“Then what do we do, huh?” Jet snarls. “What’s your great plan, oh wise one? You want us to stay here, just obey the rules and hope for the best? They’ll fighting, _ALONE._ Shi could already be hurt. Longshot could be _dead_ , and you want to _stand here_ and _talk about it?_ You want to be the leader now, huh? Are you tired of listening to me? Then tell me, _what’s the plan?_

“I don’t know,” she says.

“That’s not how being the leader works,” Jet roars. “You _have_ to know.”

She opens her mouth, but-

Oh.

There are tears on Smellerbee’s face.

“I don’t want to be the leader, and I don’t _know_ what the right plan is, I’m _thirteen_ ,” she chokes out. “Do you think I _want_ this? I _don’t want this_ ; I want to feel safe! I want to follow _you!_ But your not _thinking_ straight the last time you weren’t thinking straight you _got us killed, Jet,_ you got my friends _killed_ , but you’re my friend too so I’m trying to help, I’m always trying to pick the right thing, but I don’t know what to do, what am I supposed to do!? I don’t know what to do, I don’t _want this,_ they’re in danger and I can’t, I can’t-” her words dissolve into uncontrollable _weeping_.

Jet surges forward, dropping his swords and folding her into his arms, squeezing tight. She clings, muffling herself in his chest but still racked with the force of her sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Jet says. “I’m sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry, Smellerbee, I, I’m so sorry, shit, _please._ ”

He doesn’t stop apologizing when his mouth dries out, or his throat gets sore, when the earth shakes again, worse, and the guard begins to curse, his voice laced with hysteria. He doesn’t stop apologizing until she settles against him.

“What do we do?” she whispers.

Jet hates the options. He hates the man on the wall, he hates this whole city for its vulnerability, he hates himself so the choice he knows he has to make. He has no problem risking the whole city to be by their side. But it isn’t about him, it’s about Longshot who relies on him to call the right shot, it’s about Shi whose sense of justice has never wavered in the face of hardship.

“We trust them to survive,” he answers. “We wait.”


End file.
